War
by GirlFromNorth
Summary: He really hates the war. One-shot about Roy and Maes in the Ishvalan war.


**I've been a big fan of Fullmetal Alchemist for quite a time now, so this was only to be expected, right? Of course I had to write a fanfiction. It follows the Brotherhood time-line and has also mentions of the OVA. Like Roy-angst? You're welcome.**

**Please R&R!**

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He really hates the war. Back at the academy he had been so naïve; eager to fight for his country but not knowing that he was heading straight into hell. He had thought being the Flame Alchemist in the war would be heroic and that he could save people's lives. _Protect_ lives.

But what he did in Ishval… It wasn't a war. It was a massacre. It wasn't killing. It was murdering. They killed men, women and children: innocent beings that had done nothing to deserve death!

And now he stands in front of what, for only mere hours ago, had been a city filled with people. The air is tainted heavily by ash and the smell of burnt flesh, which now is as normal as breathing. It lingers around him like invisible hands gripping at his clothes, refusing to let go and never leaving him alone.

The smoke is almost gone now. It's gone with the sun that seems to be glaring at him like a blood-red eye and casting long shadows on the ground. He should go back to the tents and get something to eat and get his rest. Even though his sleep will be filled with fire, screams and gunshots.

He walks back to the "camp" but even there the ash covers the tents in deep layers. He gets his own food but can't even tell what it is. He thinks it some sort of meat, perhaps from a sick animal. The meat is burnt black but he doesn't complain: he's used to it by now. He thinks it looks like human flesh.

He looks around himself, pretending to not notice the fear in the other men's eyes or how they shrink away from him. _It's Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist_, they will whisper, _Stay away from him; he only has to snap his fingers and you're gone. Have you even __**seen**__ what he did to the Isvalans today?.._

He ignores the whispers and searches for the one man who won't judge him or pull back in fear. The man who has a killer's eyes like everyone else behind his glasses but still manages to smile and talk about his girlfriend. Maes Hughes won't walk away from him. Hughes understands, he knows that Roy hates himself for killing all those people and he _won't judge him_. He will take one look at him and hide the worry and exhaustion in his eyes to smile, smile and talk and sometimes even laugh.

It hurts to see how war changes a man. Roy knows he himself have changed drastically and he finds that he can't even remember the last time he actually smiled. He even misses the academy, all the tests and hard lessons and stern teachers. He misses the time when he and Maes could pull pranks at each other and get into mock-fights or laugh at some stupid joke. They can't do that anymore.

Roy sees how all the men around him change, how even Maes' wide smile begins to fade and the desperate act of happiness waver. He can see the dark hopelessness in his eyes when he drops his shield and thinks no one's looking.

And it hurts.

It hurts to see his goofy happy-go-lucky friend who never shuts up fall quiet and turn grim along with the rest of the killers around them. It hurts to see him shoot a man without even blinking and only turn around to kill another man. Because Hughes isn't a cruel or cold man, and Roy _knows_ that he doesn't like men taking other people's lives.

But it's war. He tries to hide behind that excuse: they're soldiers at war, they're protecting their country, it's their duty…

He stands up and leaves his bowl with half-eaten food on the dusty –_ashy_- ground. He sweeps past the men who warily follow him with their eyes and he steers his steps towards Hughes' tent. He's had enough of the fear around him for today; he merely wants to be around someone who doesn't think of him as a war-machine. If he won't he'll go mad.

It's funny how the desert can be so insufferable hot daytime and terribly cold nighttime. Already the air is cooling down and a cold breeze ruffles his dark hair. The sand blows up and spin around his legs like it was trying to make him go away from its home.

_Believe me; if I could I would leave this place as soon as possible._

But then there's that nagging question in the back of his head: _What are you planning to do when you get back?_

He will never be able to forget all the people he killed here. And he doesn't deserve to forget them either: let him bear this guilt forever and never be forgiven, because the dead faces will haunt him in his dreams. They already do, and Roy is under no illusion that they'll leave him alone when he gets home either.

Neither does he deserve any comfort or friendship, but he's weak. Selfish. Maes is always there, willing to be his friend whenever he wants or needs it, always helping him and standing by his side, and _damn it_, Roy's not strong enough to turn down that offer even though he doesn't _deserve a friend like that._

So that's why Mustang is walking towards his friend's tent, ready to see a tired but still smiling face and listen to how Hughes gush about his girlfriend and show him the pictures Gracia sent him. And Roy will simply roll his eyes but listen nonetheless, because listening to a happy voice is soothing. It almost makes him believe that there is a life and a future waiting for them when they return from this hellhole.

Finally he reaches the tent and hesitates briefly before walking in. Hughes looks up when he enters and immediately flashes him s grin. He's not fast enough, though, and Roy can catch the glimmer of pain and weariness in his eyes before the mask slips on. Everyone have their masks: some people, like Roy, harden their faces and look stoic and cold. Other turn themselves off completely and look like hollow shells with no emotions or light od life. And then there's Hughes, who still clings to the happy mask and refuses to give up on smiling.

"Hi Roy-boy," he says and grins again at Roy's scowl.

"Don't call me that", he scoffs, but inside he's grateful for Hughes being…Hughes. He hopes Maes is aware of that, because Roy can't possibly bring himself to tell him that. They exchange a few awkward words before Roy walks to one of the sleeping rolls on the ground and sits down.

"Any new letters from Gracia?" he asks and tries to smirk. It turns out to be more like a grimace.

"Not a new one since last time we met", he answers and sits down beside Roy and continues cheerfully "But don't worry: I still got plenty of pictures to show; look! And don't give me that face, I know you've seen these pictures before, but Gracia is so pretty you can't tire of her!" He flashes a few more photos in front of Roy's face but surprisingly he stops faster than usual. His speeches are slowly getting shorter and shorter and Roy selfishly wishes Hughes would continue talking. But again he can see his own tiredness reflected in Hughes' eyes and again they fall silent.

He doesn't miss the wince of pain when Hughes shifts or the stiffness of his arm and he wonders if he should comment it or not. There's blood staining Maes' shoulder and the clothing is badly ripped.

He carefully nudges Maes' side with his elbow and nods to the arm. "Got yourself injured again?" he wonders dryly and hopes he doesn't sound worried.

Maes looks down as well and lifts the arm slightly. "Just a scratch. Got hit by a bullet but I was damn lucky: the field medics didn't even find any splinters and I only had to bandage my arm. Hurt like hell though", he grins again but Roy simply stares at the ground. He doesn't feel like joking about the battlefield. He doesn't want to think about how easily a human life is lost. Hughes could die any day and Roy could do nothing about it. Hawkeye, for all her strength, was in just as much danger. It was all about luck.

He ends up sleeping in Maes' tent, but that's not unusual. They have their own sleeping rolls on the ground where they lie shivering from the desert cold and the rocks dig into their backs. Roy listens to Hughes' breathing and occasionally hisses of pain: he knows how much bullet wounds hurt and it's not like the soldiers are given any pain-takers or medicine. No, that's only for the deadly wounded soldiers. Roy has seen doctors dig out bullets and splinters from men's bodies without any sedatives and heard the men scream in terrible, raw pain.

He's seen blood splash out on the ground and how the sand sucks it all up and coloring it brown red. He's seen bodies pile up upon each other and children holding guns, and he's seen a whole country burn in his own flames.

He stays awake after Maes has fallen asleep and simply _listens_ and is grateful that they've both survived another day. Roy has never had a brother, but he has a friend who is his brother in all but blood. Not that anyone has to know that, of course.

Laying in the dark with a shaking and trembling body he tries to feed his own flame of life. He has to find something to live for, and he can start with adding Hawkeye and Hughes to that list. And he'll survive.

Like Hughes had said to him; he would _gain_ his right to love Gracia and for her he would swallow all the terrors of the war.

_**I'll do anything it takes to be the man she loves. I'll survive this war! And when I return home… I will swallow every horrible thing I've done here. I will smile when I'm with her, I swear on my life… I will make her happy. **_

Was it possible to do so for the one you love? And if Gracia was Maes' future and hope, then what would Roy's be? He's not foolish enough to believe he could actually find a woman for himself and have a steady relationship, not anymore. No, neither love or family would be his goal. He has torn so many families apart: he doesn't deserve to be happy with an own family.

He wants a goal. He _needs_ a goal, something to live for.

_I'll survive._

And maybe, just maybe, Roy will find a purpose and actually do something to help this corrupt world like he had wanted so badly when he came to Ishval. Perhaps he could wake that flame again and let it grow until it was strong enough to change. With the right people on his side…

He thinks of Hughes and Hawkeye again. He'll find his goal again, Roy silently promises himself. Or else he'll put a gun to his head.

He lets his eyes drift shut and tries to banish the fire burning behind his lids but it's not possible. He's afraid the roaring fire will consume him and make him burn just like the Ishvalans.

He falls into an unsteady sleep while listening to Hughes' steady breathing, knowing he'll soon have to wake up for more fighting. But its doesn't matter, because the war is in his dreams too.

He really hates the war.

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**If you liked it or hated it, it doesn't matter, reviews are loved. You're free to correct me (considering I imagine my grammar is far from perfect) because hey, you learn from your mistakes, right? **


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